Stanford's Hunters
by Debra N
Summary: Sam has worked hard to adjust to 'normal' life, but when the supernatural threatens his fellow students Sam can't remain idle. The only thing more surprising than a werewolf on campus is another hunter turning up to lend a hand. First story in the 'Stanford's Hunters' series.
1. A werewolf on campus

**Disclaimers:** Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke. Angel belongs to Joss Whedon. No profits were earned and only respect intended. Photo Credits: Background modified from stanford_ located at .

**Author's Notes:** This story is the first in a series of crossovers between pre-series Supernatural and Angel. As anyone who has watched both TV series knows, they are set in very different realities. To resolve this I created an amalgamation of the two. For example there will be three types of vampires: Turok-Han – believed to be extinct since the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth; Aurelian – like Angel, Darla, Drusilla and Spike; Infirma-Lamia – meaning weak vampire, the vamps of Supernatural lore. For demons there are both 'home grown' aka the evil, twisted spirits that either escaped or were released from hell who appear as black smoke when not possessing someone or 'foreign dimensional' aka the beasts and monsters who arrived on earth through a portal or gateway (such as a hell mouth) some time in the past. Otherwise I will try to follow canon for Angel up to its series finale and for Supernatural regarding pre-series references.

I would like to thank Emillie and Mirany for their work as my betas. They were of great help smoothing out the rough edges. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

* * *

Sam Winchester settled his backpack strap a little higher on his shoulder and then straightened his jacket collar in an attempt to prevent any more rain from sliding down his neck. He should have known he would get caught in one of the scattered showers predicted for tonight and worn his hoody. Most of the other students were staying in the refuge of the library until the rain passed. Sam just didn't want to waste time waiting around when his sturdy, water resistant bag proved more than sufficient to protect his books from the light yet persistent drizzle. He cut across the vast campus at an easy jog. Sam may have bitched about a lot of the different aspects of John Winchester's required training, but running never bothered him. Once he found the right rhythm and pace he could run for hours. During the last seventeen months, Sam familiarized himself with every path, back way and alcove on campus. He even went so far as to investigate the claims of Stanford's status as 'most haunted' university in the United States. For the most part all he found were stories and legends passed from the upperclassmen to the incoming freshman in a perpetual cycle. The remaining harmless recordings (spiritual echoes created by moments of extreme emotion; oblivious to the passage of time) were not worth the risk of exposing his complicated past to his new friends.

Friends were a main concern of Sam's since his father cut him off from the only family he ever knew. The occasional terse text from Dean let him know his big brother was still alive, but it simply did not compare to the steady, irritating, reliable, tormenting, overprotective, teasing companionship which served as an anchor all his life. Yet Sam could not make himself call Dean even now, certain if he heard his brother's voice the wave of homesickness would overwhelm him, reducing him to the whiny bitch Dean so often accused him of being. The two awkward messages Sam left on John's voicemail in a futile attempt to explain why he needed to leave were never responded to. His father's implied rejection fueled enough of Sam's anger to guarantee he didn't reach out to John a third time.

Friends quickly became Sam's lifeline in his strange new world. Luis Jackson and the Warren siblings, Zack and Rebecca all helped Sam navigate through a novel reality far different from the run-down motels, unending change and constant grinding fear of his old life. More than any of them, Tyson Brady – his first roommate in the freshman dorm – connected with Sam, becoming his best friend. Brady never cared where Sam came from or who he was before Stanford. As Brady put it during their introduction, "College is one of life's rare opportunities to remake yourself into whoever you want to be; something I intend to take full advantage of."

Their shared desire to escape their unmentioned pasts and forge a better future united the two young men with unique determination. They became almost inseparable during their freshman year. Though the gods of campus housing saw fit to bless each man with individual rooms for their sophomore year, they still spent much of their free time in each other's company. Unfortunately, something changed two months ago. Sam did not know what happened, but ever since Brady's 'obligatory visit to the parents' over Thanksgiving break, his friend acted different. Brady drank and did drugs for the first time ever; far more than the occasional beer or bit of weed to fit in at a party. Heavy drinking and hard core drugs in amounts which left Sam wondering how much longer his friend would be alive suddenly became the norm. Brady crudely dumped the young woman he only weeks before professed to love. He seemed to be on a mission to sleep with every available female on campus, while showing no regard for their feelings. If all those things were not enough, Brady's grades were suffering to such an extreme, academic probation seemed inevitable. Not that Brady appeared to care with his talk of dropping out of Stanford's pre-med program.

Sam tied to help Brady in every way he knew: moderating when his friend's actions seemed likely to provoke violence, playing designated driver as much as his class schedule permitted, and nagging Brady about when reports and papers were due. Sadly, none of his actions showed any affect on his friend. Sam wondered more and more often if his efforts were helping Brady or enabling him. Sam tried to get Brady to talk about whatever caused the sudden radical personality change, but Brady stubbornly refused to even consider discussing the situation. When Sam tried again a few days later, Brady hotly declared, "When you're ready to talk about where your Mommy is and introduce me to Daddy dearest, then I'll tell you what happened to me during my Thanksgiving made in hell. Until then, shut up and leave me alone!"

The sudden verbal attack shocked Sam, and weeks passed before they spoke again. This time, Brady acted at least a bit like his old self, claiming, "I'm still not ready to talk about what happened to me, but it was totally un-cool of me to start yelling. Let me make it up to you by taking you out."

Sam accepted the olive branch and went out with Brady. The party proved quieter then those Brady favored recently. About half an hour after they arrived Brady introduced Sam to freshman Jessica Lee Moore. To Sam, the attraction felt both instantaneous and overwhelming. He really wasn't sure he could recall a single word he spoke to her despite the fact they apparently talked for hours. If Brady's mocking grin gave indication, Sam probably made a fool of himself three times over. When late evening became the wee hours of the morning and responsibility demanded he head to his room to steal a few hours of sleep before his early morning Statistics class, Sam left with Jessica's number in his pocket.

Sam met up with Jessica several times in the past couple weeks. He kept their outings to casual meetings between friends, rather than the budding romance he really wanted. Jessica was smart, funny, and beautiful inside and out; the type of person you could easy to imagine spending the rest of your life with. Sam hesitated for the same reason he avoided serious romantic entanglement since arriving at Stanford: steady girlfriends expected to be able ask questions about their boyfriend's lives and get honest answers. They wanted to meet your family and know how you grew up; things Sam simply wasn't prepared to talk about. It left him trying to decide if it would be better to be one of those stand-offish jerks who kept their lovers at a distance or come up with some elaborate lie to cover up his past. Neither option held much appeal.

Brady's mocking him because he still hadn't asked Jessica out on a 'real date' didn't help matters. Neither did Brady's warning that a chick as hot as her would not stay single for long so he better make a move soon. Sam knew Brady's cautions were justified. What he didn't know was whether Jessica could be the one in a hundred girls who didn't care about his past as long as she could be a part of his present and maybe his future. Worst yet, Sam could hear how hard Dean would be laughing if he could see the way Sam kept angsting over whether to ask Jessica out on a real date. Hell, if Dean were here he would already be giving Jessica the full court press with nothing more than, "You snooze, you lose, Sammy Boy," tossed in his direction.

The drizzle increased to a steadier rain, coating the campus in a strange combination of dark yet shiny sheen. He increased his pace just a bit, shoving his thoughts aside to focus on getting somewhere dry. When he heard the first screams, he almost dismissed them as cats. They were coming from the far side of Stern Hall, their impact muted by both the building and the rain. The gravelly inhuman growl following the screams demanded Sam's attention.

It took only seconds for the angst ridden college student to be replaced by the experienced former hunter. He raced towards the growl despite knowing it would likely lead to a facedown with a monster. A year and a half ago, Sam walked away from the constant chaos his father's and brother's lives as hunters led to. Yet his own willingness to protect others – spare them the grief his own family suffered – never went away.

A second, louder growl rumbled by as Sam rounded the corner of Stern Hall, slowing to get a better idea of what he faced. The rain clouds blocked the moonlight while the mist distorted what light the path lanterns and buildings produced. Enough illumination filtered through to identify the forms of four or five people cowering away from a hairy, hulking biped with a snout full of razor sharp teeth. _What the hell was a werewolf doing on campus?_ It must be newly infected or it never could have escaped notice. Sam knew a silver bullet provided the most effective way of dealing with a werewolf, though a silver tipped blade would do in a pinch. Unfortunately, Sam stopped carrying guns when he moved to Stanford. He took a knife everywhere, but the blade currently secreted beneath his belt bore no silver. The four people scrambling back from the werewolf wouldn't survive long enough for Sam to run back to his dorm and retrieve a silver knife from his small weapons stash.

Casting a look over his surroundings, Sam nearly gave a shout of joy at some worker's negligence in leaving tools behind. What looked like the poles and canvas for a large tent were carefully folded beside the wall, tucked behind some bushes. Sam scooped up a hand full of tent stakes offering prayerful thanks they were made of sturdy metal, not plastic. He ignored the tent ropes; useless against a creature as strong as a werewolf. The lump hammer poking out from beneath the canvas was confiscated. Sam would have preferred a larger sledgehammer but at least it gave him a weapon to wield.

A cry of pain accompanied by a guttural roar pulled his eyes back to the conflict. One girl split off from the group and ran towards Wilbur Hall. Surprisingly, the werewolf didn't charge after the weak, fleeing individual but stayed with the group. One of the men in the group tried to warn the creature off with a dead tree branch. The werewolf's responding snarl sounded mocking enough to make Sam wonder how much human intelligence remained in its monster form. Sam charged towards the beast even as it broke the waving tree limb in half and pinned its wielder to the stone wall by his throat. Swinging at the werewolf from behind, Sam's newly acquired hammer hit hard against the monster's right ear. It stunned the creature into releasing its grip on its intended victim.

Sam wasted no time following up his initial attack. He mentally reviewed everything he ever read, or his father mentioned, about werewolves even as he took another swing at the monster's head. The upright posture and large snout with plentiful fangs identified the werewolf as Lycanthropus Exterus, which meant the larger of the werewolf species. Sam would have to avoid its powerful arms; known to rip limbs off when toying with its prey. He managed to hit the beast's head a second time before it got its arm up to block a third blow. While the creature appeared dazed, it was still far from beaten. Sam chanced assuming its confusion was real and body slammed the werewolf to the ground. Swinging the lump hammer from a different angle, he again scored against the monster's head. Then, Sam half straddled its chest, placing most of his weight on the knee bearing down on the creature's vulnerable neck.

Sam placed one of the metal stakes against the werewolf's flailing arm and with two powerful blows, staked the creature's arm to the ground. It wasn't the smartest way to battle a werewolf, but without the aid of silver and only a three inch blade with which to either decapitate or cause massive bodily harm, his options were limited. Immobilizing its strong arms became his best chance at killing the beast. A second stake pierced the forearm, but the monster bucked wildly beneath Sam, nearly dislodging him. Its free arm raked across Sam's side, tearing through cloth and fresh. Sam kept his focus on nailing the third stake through the werewolf's palm. He kicked at the free arm when it came up for a second swipe. He regretted his action when it caused him to slide out of position, giving the creature a chance to catch its breath. It was a game changing moment as the werewolf's free claws latched onto Sam's jacket and flung him like a rag doll into the hard brick of Stern Hall's Twain section.

"Sam! Please be okay, Sam," entreated a familiar voice as frantic hands ran over his body checking for injury.

Sam hissed in pain when one of the hands found the gouges in his side. Sam forced his eyes open to locate the werewolf. It growled and snapped at Sam from a dozen feet away, its unpinned arm reaching towards him futilely. Surrounding him were the four remaining students he just saved: the voice pleading for his safety belonged to Jessica, a redheaded woman Sam didn't recognize crouched deathly pale beside her, and Luis Jackson knelt at Sam's other side, ready to help him to sit up.

Zack Warren stood over the group holding his bloody, limp arm, eyes still on the flailing werewolf. "Thanks, Sam. You saved my life." Zack's voice sounded shaky from a potent mix of fear and adrenaline.

"Not yet," Sam denied. "It's down but not out. I need to finish it." With Luis's support, Sam rose to his feet. His left side ached from impacting the wall while his right side throbbed where the monster's claws tore his skin.

"Sam, you're bleeding," Jessica pointed out. She tried to staunch the flow by pressing the remnants of his shirt to the wounds, but Sam shrugged her off.

"We can deal with me later," Sam insisted, despite the sudden rise leaving him a little lightheaded. "What happened to the hammer?" Sam's quick visual surveillance spotted two far flung tent stakes but no lump hammer.

"It went flying when you did," Luis volunteered. "I think it landed somewhere in the hedges. Let me get it."

Seeing a freakish fanged monster hulk out of the shadows towards him, caused Luis to redefine the meaning of terror. He felt certain a painful death waited seconds away. Then Sam came charging out of the darkness, swinging a hammer and tackling the beast. If Sam wanted to keep beating that thing until it died, Luis would happily help him do so.

"What is it?" asked the unnamed redhead.

"It's a breed of werewolf," explained Sam. "Silver is the best way to kill them. It pretty much causes them to go into anaphylactic shock. But without it all I can do is cause as much physical damage as possible." He leaned over to scoop up a stake from the ground.

"Wait, you mean a person until the full moon rises type of werewolf?" the redhead's voice squeaked. "You want to kill him? What about the person inside it?"

Zack looked away from the monster for the first time. "Hell, yes, we kill it! I didn't see it hesitate before trying to kill us," Zack reminded through a bruised throat. "Do you really want it terrorizing the campus again?"

Sam didn't reply, for his attention now focused on the werewolf, who gave up trying to reach the students and curled on its side away from them. The thing snarled and jerked its free hand back in an odd fashion. Then Sam realized what it held in its hand: a bloody tent stake. The werewolf was trying to unpin itself from the ground and succeeding.

"Um, guys," Sam interrupted the still arguing redhead and Zack, "I need that hammer now."

"I know it landed somewhere around here," Luis insisted as he continued to search. Luis's words were followed by a defiant roar as the monster pulled the second stake out of its forearm.

"Forget the hammer," Sam ordered. "Everybody run! Run now!"

Sam followed his own advice, urging Jessica away from the nearly freed monster. Sam stayed at the rear of the group, making sure none of the others lagged behind. A distracted part of his mind noted the redhead, who moments before argued against killing the werewolf, now lead the retreat. Glancing back confirmed the werewolf had freed its left arm from the last stake. The creature rose to its feet, still a terrifying sight despite its limp and bleeding arm. Sam's small hope that the beast would flee to lick its wounds the way a true wolf would was crushed when it howled its rage and charged in pursuit. "We need to get inside!" Sam urged. If they couldn't outrun the werewolf, a sturdy shelter became their best chance of defense.

The redhead suddenly veered left towards a small grounds keeper's shed. She reached into a vase, pulled out a key and unlocked the door, pushing inside with Luis on her heels. A dim yellow glow of electricity spilled out the door way seconds later as Sam pushed Zack and Jessica ahead of him. The instant the door closed, Luis began shoving a metal shelf over to block its entrance. Sam felt relieved to see his friend keeping a cool head. He perused the small room, finding a large supply of fertilizer and weed killer lining one wall, and a deep sink below a window, dominating the far wall while hook boards full of tools covered the remaining space.

The entire shed shook as the werewolf began its assault on the structure. The snarling and banging scared most of the group into cowering in the center of the building. Sam noticed the way the wood started to splinter beneath the werewolf's wrath. It would only take minutes for the creature to break through. He resisted the urge to berate the redhead for not taking shelter in one of the sturdier residence halls; it just would have put more lives at stake. Sam tried to block out the snarls and growls enough to focus on the landscaping tools. The hedge clippers proved too unwieldy, while the pruners were too small to be effective and the chainsaw would more likely hurt him than the werewolf. He passed a long handled edger to Jessica and a garden fork to the redhead. Both tools were long enough to hopefully allow the girls to defend themselves while staying out of the werewolf's reach. Zack received a short but sturdy shovel he should be able to wield one-handed. Sam guessed from the way Zack's right arm hung it was likely dislocated. Luis, the only other able bodied male, seemed to be coping with the recent shift in his reality surprisingly well, so Sam handed him one of the two machetes.

"What's the plan?" Luis asked in a grave voice.

"I'm going to climb out the back window and try to lead it away," Sam replied. "You guys just need to stay inside the shed until I come back with an all clear or the sun rises." Luis's eyes widened in his dark face as he realized the implications of Sam not returning before sunrise. "If the werewolf looks like it's going to get in, remember decapitation is the surest way to kill it. No matter what, don't hesitate or hold back." Jessica listened just as intently as Luis, but Zack and Redhead were more focused on the clawing beast on the other side of the wood frame. On impulse, Sam pulled a permanent marker out of his pocket and began writing directly on a shelf. "Pastor Jim will know what to do with . . . my remains," Sam forced the words out in a rush. "Dean," Sam hesitated. _What the hell could I possibly say to Dean to make this okay? Nothing._ "Tell my brother I'm sorry about how I left. I needed to try to find some other way to live."

"No!" Luis denied firmly. "No way are you going off on some suicide mission so I have to tell your family you're dead. I say we stick together and make a stand against this thing." Despite the sound of cracking wood and the clatter of metal tins and tubs falling off the shelves, Luis met Sam's eyes with steady determination. It made Sam realize how lucky he was to end up with such a friend, and doubly determined to see his friends get out of this alive.

"Making a stand won't work," Sam explained. "Once it gets in here, we will have no room to fight or maneuver. It will have us trapped and will eat our hearts at its leisure. I've been killing these things since I was nine years old. I know how to fight it and what its weaknesses are, but I have to go now before it breaks through." As if to emphasize Sam's point, one of the wood boards cracked. Seconds later, a brown snout poked through and growled. Jessica snatched a spray bottle of weed killer, squirting the chemicals right at the werewolf's sensitive nose. The monster yelped and whined for the first time, pulling its snout out of the hole before attacking the door again with a bit less fervor. Sam looked at Jessica with new respect. "Good thinking."

"Sam, I'll call your brother if we need to," Jessica promised, "but I really don't want to. So if there is anything else you can think of that might help, tell us now."

"Pray," the word slipped out before Sam could stop it in a tone of half joke, half desperation.

Jessica took Sam's utterance at face value. She stepped up to Sam, placing one hand on his neck and the other on the hand holding the machete. "Heavenly Father, thank you for sending Sam to us in our moment of need; bless his blade to cut sure and clean through the monster who hunts us; bless Sam so he may return safely to us."

"Amen," Zack and Luis both replied; Luis in the loud declaration of his Southern Baptist upbringing, Zack in a more reserved tone dictated by his Presbyterian background.

The gesture shocked Sam, but it also surprisingly made him feel better. Without another word, Sam stalked to the sink and forced open the window. "Make sure you block the window behind me," Sam instructed Luis as he climbed onto the sink and readied himself to slip out the window.

"Make sure you don't get killed," Luis answered back. Sam nodded his acknowledgement, then slid feet first out the window. Luis immediately closed and locked the pane, while Jessica handed him a broken fence section to block it. The pounding and crashing continued to herald the destruction of the shed's door for several more seconds, before the group heard Sam's muffled taunts answered by the werewolf's howl. The scramble of feet pounding the wet earth was quickly drowned out by the rain tapping the shed's metal roof. "Don't you dare get killed, Sam," Luis warned towards the darkness again. The others waited silently as the rain continued to fall.

* * *

I promise Connor will be making his presence known in chapter two.


	2. Battling the beast

When Sam first slipped out the window of the landscaper's shed, he held vague plans of drawing the werewolf's attention, leading it somewhere secluded like the Mausoleum or the mostly neglected Cactus Garden and defeating the monster; preferably by way of a swift decapitation. The first part of the plan worked well enough. Sam only needed to shout at the werewolf to get its attention. Once the beast saw Sam, it quickly gave up demolishing the shed in favor of chasing the human who foolishly crippled its arm. Sam led it away from where the other's remained sheltered, but it quickly became clear he would never reach the Mausoleum before the werewolf overtook him. Despite his head start, the werewolf easily gained ground. Sam could feel the constant movement of his pace pulling at the gashes in his flank. His blood flowed easily from the wounds, saturating his cloths and sapping his strength. He tried to buy time by dodging around obstacles, but he knew he needed to find a place to make a stand soon while he still maintained the energy to stay on his feet.

Sam could hear the monster's hoarse breathing close behind. He felt the lightest tug on his jacket and spun, swinging the machete before him. Though the blade cut a deep line across the beast's chest, Sam nearly lost the weapon when its edge caught on one of the werewolf's ribs. Its reactionary shove at Sam didn't knock him down, but it did leave him off balance. His follow up swing at its neck narrowly missed, though he did manage to kick its injured arm and elicit a whine.

The werewolf stepped back, as though to retreat, but then launched forward, tackling Sam to the ground. Sam tried to get the machete up, even felt it dig into the creature's side to no effect. The creature seemed oblivious to anything but making its next kill. Sam struggled to hold its snapping jaws at bay while he fumbled to recover the blade pinned between them. The werewolf lunged for Sam's throat. Hot breath and slobber hit Sam's neck as his arm, braced against the monster's throat, held its fangs an inch away. "No," Sam cried in defiance. He knew his life hovered seconds from its end.

"Get off!" shouted a new voice. Suddenly, the werewolf's solid mass jerked back and away. "You look like you could use some help," offered an oddly calm stranger. The man, no older than Sam, pulled him to his feet with an easy one handed tug despite being half a foot shorter than Sam. With brown hair and a slender frame, he could have been dismissed were it not for the intensity of his eyes as they rested on the slumped form of the werewolf slowly rising from the ground. "My name's Connor Reilly. Do you usually hunt werewolves without silver?"

Sam choked out a small laugh in spite of himself. The simple question let him know Connor was an experienced hunter. He could not have hoped for a better person to arrive on the scene, except maybe Dean. Then again, Dean would likely be scolding him by now for walking around unarmed (anything less than a gun and three blades was unarmed to Dean) and trying to take on a werewolf without his family to back him. "I haven't hunted at all since I enrolled seventeen months ago," Sam admitted. "I was just heading back to my room when I heard this thing attacking a group of students. They weren't going to survive long enough for me to go back to my room and grab my silver knife." The werewolf returned to its feet, glaring at the men. It began pacing back and forth to block their exit while growling menacingly. "I told the others to hide in a landscaping shed between Stern and Wilbur, while I led it away."

Connor's eyebrows rose at Sam's explanation. "Well, I suppose if you are going to be stupid while hunting werewolves you might as well be heroically stupid," he observed in a teasing tone. "I've got a spare silver blade if you're interested."

"Very," Sam gratefully accepted the weapon, his mood immediately improving. He still felt rundown and weak but now he at least had an effective weapon and someone experienced to help him fight. "We could try to flank it," he suggested.

Connor looked hesitant. "With the way you're bleeding, the werewolf will attack you first," he pointed out.

"I know," Sam admitted, "but one of us has to play bait so the other can come at it from its blind side; might as well be me." Sam played bait many times when hunting with Dean and their father. The risk, while not insubstantial, could be marginalized by working with other skilled hunters. Of course, he did not really know if Connor possessed the abilities to back up his apparent confidence, but after the last hour, Sam decided to take it on faith.

"Okay," agreed Connor, "I'll follow your lead."

Unwilling to abandon its hunt, the werewolf kept pacing back and forth apparently hesitant to attack the new challenger, who could fling him about with the same ease he tossed humans around. Sam took a deep breath, focused the remainder of his reserves, and stepped away from Conner. The werewolf immediately stopped staring intently at its most recent prey. Slowly, foot by foot, Sam widened the distance between the two men. Connor, for his part, remained absolutely still, hoping to lull the creature into forgetting his presence. Unfortunately, the monster wasn't as stupid as they hoped. While it followed Sam with its eyes, it also kept glancing back at Connor. When Sam calculated that he stood about twelve feet from Connor, he decided to force the issue. With a half turn, Sam began to move sideways; making it impossible for the werewolf to watch both men simultaneously. The monster snarled in frustration, its head swiveling from Sam to Connor. Finally, with one last look at Connor's frozen form, the creature launched at Sam.

Sam convinced himself that he was ready for the werewolf's attack right up until the moment it slammed him to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs. Fortunately, his father long ago drilled into him to keep fighting even when necessities like oxygen were taken away. He thrust the newly acquired silver dagger up into the ribcage of the beast. The creature yowled above him, but when it didn't collapse or transform back into its human form, Sam knew he had missed the heart. For the second time that night, the werewolf was pulled off of him. As Sam gasped for absent air, Connor held the monster by the base of its neck and slammed a knife through its back into its heart. Conner released the body even as it shifted to a more human appearance. Sam scrambled to his feet, mostly to put some distance between himself and the warm, naked corpse of a thirty something year old man.

"We better get out of here before someone else walks by," Connor suggested picking up his blades..

"I need to give the all clear to the others in the shed," remembered Sam, wobbling a bit as he headed back the way he came.

"Sure," agreed Connor. "Any place is better than here right now." He spoke casually but moved closer to the injured man incase he faltered.

It was a slow journey back to the landscaper's building. On the up side, the bleeding from the gashes in Sam's flank slowed to a trickle. On the down side, between the cold January drizzle and the blood loss, Sam self diagnosed a mild to moderate case of shock. The shed looked dark as they approached, the wood around its door battered and cracked. "Luis, it's all clear. Zack, Jessica, you are safe to come out now," Sam shouted from outside the door.

The light inside the shed turned on and both men heard the sound of shelves being moved. When the door opened, Luis greeted them with a machete in hand. "Damn, Sam. You were starting to worry us," he exclaimed. Getting a closer look at his friend, he amended, "Maybe we should still be worried. You look worse than before."

"Sam, come inside," Jessica instructed. "We found a pretty good first aid kit in the sink cabinet. Sit down so I can patch you up," she continued in a no nonsense fashion. Sam half plopped, half collapsed on his ass. But Connor and Luis's hands kept him from tipping over.

"And you are?" Luis asked Connor a bit suspiciously.

Rather than take offense, Connor noted the group had been through a traumatic evening and did his best to put on a reassuring smile. He started to speak when the redhead behind Luis beat him to it. "His name is Connor. We're in the same accounting class."

"That's right. Connor Reilly," he confirmed. "You're name is April, right?"

"Yes," she agreed, "This is Jessica, Zack and Luis," she finished the introductions by motioning to the other three.

"Connor's another hunter," Sam hissed out the information as Jessica liberally sprayed his scratches with Bacitracin.

"You hunt monsters?" Zack spoke up for the first time.

"Yeah," Connor confirmed. "I was raised as a hunter, but I've sort of been on sabbatical since enrolling in Stanford. Some girl stormed into Wilbur Hall screaming about monsters. Almost everyone figured it was some prank or maybe she was tripping. I decided it wouldn't hurt to check it out."

"So, the werewolf . . . it's dead?" asked April.

Connor squeezed Sam's shoulder, indicating he would reply. "That depends. Are we going to have to deal with rants about the sanctity of life if I say yes?"

April smiled awkwardly. "Even the most dedicated vegan has to make exceptions when the life in question is trying to rip your heart out and eat it for dessert," she admitted.

Connor nodded with relief. "Yes, we killed it. I would usually prefer to take a 'capture and contain' approach, but it was clearly cursed and rabid."

"Wait," said April, "are you saying not all werewolves are bad?"

Suddenly, Connor was wishing he said a little less. "It depends on your definition of bad," he hedged. "When werewolves transform they are all predatory but only a few are aggressive. Those few tend to be cursed."

"Aren't predatory and aggressive the same thing?" asked Zack.

"Predatory behavior is a survival trait," explained Sam when Connor seemed to flounder. "It's about getting nourishment to stay health and strong. The average werewolf is just as likely to hunt a rabbit or a groundhog as it is a person. But attacking a group of people without the support of a pack and continuing its assault even after receiving multiple injuries is unusually aggressive behavior. I vaguely remember reading lore about a dark warlock cursing a particular werewolf to become 'mad as a rabid dog with each change; never satisfied until it consumed the heart of its human prey'. Most hunters track werewolves by the heartless corpses they leave behind. So usually it's the cursed ones we are dealing with."

"I actually know an un-cursed werewolf who is incredibly conscientious about locking herself in a safe-room during the three nights of a full moon," offered Connor.

"A conscientious werewolf?" wondered Zack in a dazed tone. "I know I asked, but I think my head may explode if I hear any more weird shit."

Sam chuckled, "Imagine trying to absorb it as an eight year old."

"Eight?" asked Luis. He turned to Connor. "How long have you known about monsters?"

Connor tilted his head in consideration. "I don't think there was more than a year I didn't know about monsters and demons."

"Demons are real too?" asked Zack in a panicked voice.

"Real," confirmed Sam, "but also incredibly rare in most places." Sam could see Zack had reached his information overload point. It was time to change the topic. "Zack, your shoulder looks pretty bad. Why don't you let Luis take you to the hospital?"

"I'll go with you," volunteered April. "I am so ready to get out of this place. Are you coming Jess?"

"I'm not done patching Sam up," Jessica insisted. "I'll meet up with you later." She dug through the first aid kit, searching in vain for one more bandage large enough to cover the forth deep scratch left by the werewolf.

"Maybe Sam should go to the hospital too," April suggested.

"No," nixed Sam, "The wounds aren't deep. I just lost more blood than I should have because of all the running and the wound being wet. With a little rest, I will be fine."

Seeing that Luis and April were both ready to argue with Sam, Connor offered a compromise. "Sam's right about Zack's shoulder needing to get looked at by a doctor. You two take him to the hospital," he instructed motioning to April and Luis. "Jess and I can finish bandaging Sam up in my room."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jessica closed the kit and tucked it under the sink. Then she pulled thirty dollars worth of bills out of her pocket and set it next to the sink faucet. When she noticed Connor and Luis giving her strange looks, she defended, "What? This little place kept us alive. It's only fair we help pay for the supplies we used." Apparently, Jessica's short speech pricked a few consciences, because soon everyone pulled out a bill or two to leave at the sink.

The group parted ways once outside the shed, though not before Luis warned Sam, "Expect me to stop by after Ethics tomorrow for a long talk."

Sam smiled wanly, "I'll answer any questions you have for me. Just think long and hard about whether you really want to hear the answers."

* * *

Connor led them to his dorm, where he and Jess did their best to strategically block the other students' view of Sam's blood soaked clothing. Fortunately, the few students wandering the halls seemed focused upon their own trials and tribulations. No one stopped or even looked sideways at the trio entering Connor's room. Once inside, Jessica urged Sam to remove his jacket and shirts while Connor fetched his medical supplies. Connor also plied Sam with bottles of orange juice and Gatorade to replenish fluids, boast electrolytes and hopefully counter some of the shock.

Sam actually started feeling better almost as soon as he took off his wet clothes and warmed up. "My bruises are going to have bruises tomorrow," he noted. "I haven't felt this banged up since the supposedly minor haunting in Alabama turned out to be two full fledged poltergeists." It was the first time Sam honestly spoke of his past since coming to Stanford. In fact, it might actually be the only time Sam talked openly with anyone beside his brother or father about his hunting experiences. Even on those occasions when they were among other hunters such as Bobby Singer or Pastor Jim Murphy, Dean was always the one eager to share their exploits. Sam more often talked about his school work or the soccer team he managed to join. During his teen years, Sam could only be described as sullen and closed-mouthed in regards to hunting.

"Is it hard," asked Jessica, "to always be hiding your past?"

"I thought it would be easy," began Sam. "My family is made up of hunters and I was always the odd ball who hated how we lived. I thought I could just forget about my past and start fresh here. But in reality, it is incredibly hard to build even the most basic friendships while keeping the first eighteen years of your life secret. The one close friendship I developed is currently imploding. I'm pretty sure its failure can be blamed on the fact we are both keeping secrets from each other."

Jessica looked to Connor for his input. She finished putting away the last of the medical supplies while Sam spoke. Then she sat on the bed next to Sam across from Connor in the desk chair. She couldn't deny an overwhelming curiosity about what it would be like to know there were real monsters in the world and to spend your life hunting them while others buried themselves in the illusion that such things don't exist.

"My situation is a bit harder to explain," Connor hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell them about himself. If fact, he felt surprised by how strong the desire burned to share everything with them. From the moment Connor reached out his hand to help Sam up, there had been a connection; almost like the recognition of a long lost friend who finally arrived. Even Jessica felt like a kindred soul of sorts. Not that he was interested in her romantically. She was way hot and all, but from the glances Sam and Jessica were sending each other, it was only a matter of time before they became a thing. Oddly enough, Connor kept thinking how much his little sister Abby would like Jessica.

"Okay, here's the thing," Connor started over. "Even if we put aside the part where I grew up fighting supernatural monsters and demons, my life is really weird even by hunter standards."

Sensing Connor might be feeling pressured to reveal more than he was ready to, Sam offered, "You don't have to explain anything you don't want to. I get keeping secrets until they become so ingrained you don't know how to function without them. You can tell us when you're ready to tell us or not say anything at all. Either way isn't going to change who you are to us."

Suddenly intrigued, Connor asked, "So who am I to you?"

"A fellow student at Stanford," replied Sam, "who also happens to be the hunter who helped me save several lives tonight, including my own."

"Sam's right," agreed Jessica. "I mean, I'm not going to deny I'm wildly curious about both of your lives and what it means to be a monster hunter. That said; I want to be your friend a lot more than I want to know your secrets."

Connor smiled. Coming to a decision, he locked his dorm room door and pulled a bottle out of a compartment under the bed. "I hope you like whiskey, because this is a story best told and listened to with fortification."

* * *

**Author's note:** this is my first story attempting to write characters for either Angel or Supernatural, so your feedback would be especially appreciated.


	3. Weird, even by hunter standards

"Angel," Sam repeated for the seventh time, "as in Angelus ensouled, that Angel." Sam turned to Jessica, "Can you believe he's really talking about Angel?"

Jessica chuckled a bit nervously. She wasn't sure how concerned she should be that Sam, the Hunter who apparently had no problem taking on a rabid werewolf with nothing more than a hammer and tent stakes, would choose to freak out over Connor's story. "I'm still trying to make sure I've got the whole vampire – slayer thing right." She glanced back towards Connor since he had dominated the vampire explanations. "Vampires are not only real, but there are three types," Jessica summarized. "Infirm-Lamia or 'weak vampires' are the most human type. They look like us, except for a second row of fangs that drop down from their gums. They can walk in the sunlight and religious artifacts are generally useless, but dead man's blood is poisonous to them. They are almost extinct thanks to being determinedly hunted by both humans and Aurelian Vampires. Aurelians fall much more in line with what one would think of as a vampire: two long fangs, burned by crosses and holy water, and Aurelians can be killed with a wooden stake to the heart. If you're not sure which breed you are dealing with; decapitation will work on both."

Connor nodded encouragingly for her to continue. "Turok-Han are cave-man vampires, last seen right before the Sunnydale Hellmouth imploded in what was not really a sinkhole collapsing due to earthquakes, but the result of a mystical battle of epic proportions," Jessica rushed out the last part feeling like she had just finished giving an oral exam for one of her professors.

"I think she's got the vampire lore down," Sam assessed approvingly while filling three shot glasses. "Bottoms up," he toasted. "Then you get to tell us what you've learned about Slayers."

The whiskey burned down her throat, but Jessica was starting to get used to the sting. She also realized; were it not for the 'liquid courage' Sam and Connor were steadily supplying, she would likely be shaking in terror by now. At least she could find some hope in the Slayer side of the lore. "The Vampire Slayer is a human girl imbued with the strength and agility of a demon," Jessica began, "duty bound to battle vampires and other supernatural forces of evil. For thousands of years a teenage girl would be called as a Slayer. She would bounce from one fight to the next until she made a mistake that cost her life."

Jessica sighed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Can I just say, on a personal note, how happy I am, not to be a Slayer? Their job descriptions totally sucked! Anyway," she returned to her recital, "at some point the Watcher's Council developed to identify, train, and guide potentials as well as the Slayer. But what started out as an organization to support and aid the Slayer eventually came to see her as a tool at their disposal. Once she died her powers would pass to another teenage girl and the cycle would continue."

"Everything changed with Buffy Summers," Jessica continued. "She had friends who chose to ignore the whole 'Slayers fight alone' tradition, reviving her with CPR when the Master left her for dead in a pool of water. Though she retained her powers, another was called when her heart stopped; thus splitting the slayer line for the first time. It split again when The First Evil tried to wipe out the Slayer by eliminating all potentials. Buffy retaliated by turning all of the potentials into Slayers."

Connor and Sam both began to applaud loudly, making Jessica blush. Drinking another whiskey shot pushed into her hand by Sam, Jessica wondered, "How many slayers are there now?"

"No one outside the Slayer's Council knows exactly how many there are," Connor informed. "I've heard estimates ranging from five hundred to five thousand."

"Does that mean there aren't any more potentials?" asked Jessica. "Are girls that would have been potentials born with superpowers?"

'Actually no," informed Connor with a shake of his head. "In all of recorded history, Slayers were never called before the age of thirteen. When Buffy's friend cast the spell to activate all of the potentials only those thirteen and older were called; which is probably a good thing. Can you imagine the chaos a two-year-old Slayer having a tantrum would cause?"

"Yeah, somehow I don't think preschoolers with super human strength are a good idea," Jessica agreed. "You also said Angel is one of only two Aurelian vampires to ever acquire a soul; the other being Spike. Both are considered 'good guys' and you are somehow connected to Angel," Jessica finished with a questioning tone, not sure about the last part.

Connor up-ended his glass of whiskey and set it on the table. "Here is the Reader's Digest version: Around 1750 a young man named Liam was sired by Darla, an Aurelian vampire. It's important to understand Aurelians don't retain their souls like Infirm-Lamia. The person they infect dies, their souls leaves the body and a new demon moves in, stealing not just the person's face, but also their memories. Angelus, as he was known then, became the Scourge of Europe as he and Darla rained terror across the continent. Just before the end of the nineteenth century, he ran afoul of a gypsy clan after tormenting and killing one their most beloved daughters. They retaliated by cursing Angelus with the return of Liam's soul."

"That sounds more like a curse on Liam than Angelus," Jessica noted.

"True," admitted Connor, "Liam suffered overwhelming guilt and shame about the atrocities Angelus committed using his body. But the curse on Angelus existed in that the soul was in control. Angelus was aware of everything around him but could never take action as long as the soul remained. Fast forward to 1996: The vampire, who is now going by the name Angel, is sought out by Whistler, a demon charged with maintaining the balance between good and evil. Whistler led Angel to the newest Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers. Apparently, it was love at first sight and the impetus to convince Angel to become a Champion of the light. Unfortunately, no one bother to tell Angel his curse included an escape clause: If Angel experienced pure happiness he would lose his soul and revert to evil."

"Do not tell me he lost his soul because he fell in love," Jessica insisted. Despite her denial, she leaned forward to hear what happened next.

"Of course not," agreed Connor, "He lost his soul because she loved him in return."

"Harsh," decided Jessica. "What ever happened to love conquers all?"

"It doesn't apply to gypsy curses," Connor deadpanned, causing Sam to burst into a fit of drunken giggles, which in turn made Connor break down in laughter.

"Men," grumbled Jessica, tossing corn chips at both offenders.

Once Connor regained his composure, he continued, "Eventually, they re-cursed Angelus to get Angel back, but only after a significant body count. He and Buffy decided they were better off apart, and Angel made his way to Los Angeles. There he crossed swords with Wolfram and Hart."

Jessica frowned, "Isn't that a law firm?"

"They specialize in clients of the demonic and supernatural persuasion," explained Sam, "though they do take on the occasional human clients, if they are really rich and really evil."

"Angel was killing a few too many of their clients," Connor picked his story back up. "They weren't willing to kill him because they possessed a prophecy implying that he would be a major player in their apocalypse. So they went at him sideways."

"Hold up," Jessica shifted to sit cross legged. "Did you say 'their apocalypse'? As in _the_ apocalypse, or is this just some hunter euphemism?"

"Look at it this way," offered Sam. "Christianity is just one of many religions with an apocalypse prophecy. Even the old faiths, mostly forgotten, had predictions of how the world might end. As do many of the religious texts for the demon tribes and monster packs who inhabit our planet. There is almost always someone trying to end it all. Yet at the same time, there are also those fighting to keep our world going. Thus far, every attempt to end the world has turned into an apocalypse averted."

Jessica's eyes grew huge. "Averted by Hunters? Shit, Sam, who do I bake the 'thank you' brownies for?"

"Not me," Sam laughed. "That sort of stuff was way above my pay grade even when I was still actively hunting. Apocalypse averting is usually left to the Slayer or some prophesied Champion. We hunters handle the minor stuff like hauntings, poltergeists, and rabid werewolves." Sam looked toward Connor for confirmation. Instead, his new friend's eyes skittered away nervously. "Crap!" Sam swore as several inconsistencies in Connor's behavior were explained. "That's how you were able to pull the werewolf off of me. You're a Champion."

"It's really not that big of a deal," Connor insisted.

"A prophesied Champion?" Sam asked. Any warrior could claim the title of Champion, but those whose lives were foretold most definitely fell into the 'Big Deal' category.

"One prophecy," Connor admitted. "I already fulfilled it last year, so I don't know if the title of Champion even still applies."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe I'm sitting here shooting the breeze with a Champion," Sam confessed, reaching for more whiskey.

"But what does being a Champion mean?" asked Jessica, again trying to catch up with Sam and Connor's conversation. Apparently, discovering the supernatural involved a steep learning curve.

"It kind of varies from one person to the next," Connor hedged. "In my case, I have strength, speed and agility equivalent to a Master Vampire. I also heal a lot faster than normal. Some Champions are selected by one of the Powers That Be, and gifted with superhuman abilities. I received my abilities from the supernatural events surrounding my birth." Connor stopped to offer up a prayer to anybody listening for Sam and Jessica to stay his friends once his sordid past was revealed.

"I said earlier Wolfram and Hart was trying to find a way to stop Angel from interfering with their clients," Connor returned to his earlier story, his tone low and serious. "They were hoping to convince Angel to join their side. They set about resurrecting Darla, his sire, whom he staked a couple years before while proving himself to Buffy. Darla was resurrected as a human, making it impossible for Angel to simply stake her as he had before. However, Darla's human condition also meant she possessed a soul, bringing a boat load of guilt and confusion over her vampire past. At first, Darla wanted to be sired again to be rid of her conscience. She wanted it even more desperately when she learned she would soon die of syphilis. Angel tried to win her a magical cure via the Demon Trials, but though he survived the trials and was granted a life in reward, it couldn't go to Darla because she was already living her magical 'second chance'. Right about the time Darla told Angel she would rather die human than survive as a vampire, a Wolfram and Hart team burst in and incapacitated Angel. They forced him to watch while Drusilla, a vampire Angelus sired centuries before, sired Darla."

Connor took a deep breath as he tried to decide the best way to explain what happened next. "Have you been in, or maybe watched someone spiral down into, a self-destructive relationship?" asked Connor. Sam and Jessica both nodded having watched others engage in unhealthy unions. "With Darla again soullessly happy to toy with Angel's emotions, and Angel despondent over his failure to save her, he found himself in a very dark place. The two eventually fell into bed together. This is where the life Angel won in the demon trials came back into play. Angel almost immediately ended the relationship, not realizing the damage was already done. Darla fled Los Angeles as the only known Aurelian vampire to ever become pregnant.

"Fast forward about nine months: Darla shows back up to let Angel know he's about to be a daddy. The only problem being, the magic used to create the baby and kept it from being miscarried or aborted could not help Darla deliver. Vampires simply weren't capable of the physical changes needed to give birth to a baby." Connor considered the refilled whiskey glass in his hand for a moment before putting it down. "Angel told me, by the time Darla went into labor, she could feel my soul, was even sharing it. He said she loved me and wanted me to be born healthy. She made him promise to tell me, I was the one good thing they'd ever done together. Then she staked herself and I was born."

"Connor, I'm so sorry," consoled Jessica, aching for the loss he had suffered. She knew her words were inadequate. She wanted to embrace him, but didn't know him well enough to decide if a hug would make the situation better or worse.

Sam understood better than most what it meant to have a mother die before you were old enough to remember her. Despite what some people claimed you could miss what you never had. It felt like a hole in your soul that could never be filled. Suddenly, his mind stuck on another detail. "But didn't these things happen within the last couple of years? How are you here instead of preschool?"

Connor half expected to hear disbelief or derision from one if not both of his companions. Instead Jessica offered him compassion while Sam met his words with honest interest. Even Sam's earlier amazement over his Champion status did not halt his total acceptance. Connor felt certain Sam and Jess were two people he would be lucky to have as friends for the rest of his life.

"Remember earlier when I said my life was really weird?" Receiving nods from both he continued, "Well I have two sets of memories. In one set of memories, I'm Connor Reilly, the adopted son of Laurence and Colleen Reilly. The scariest thing to happen to me between birth and college involved getting lost in a department store. I remember Dad teaching me how to ride a bike. I remember being worried about being replaced when Mom found out she was pregnant. One of my clearest memories is being handed my baby sister, Abigail, for the first time: The weight of her in my arms; her hand wrapping around my finger; looking into her eyes and promising to protect her from every bad thing in the world. This set of memories tells me I grew up in a happy family with loving, supportive parents. I was a straight-A student with lots of friends and an awesome little sister. I earned top scores on my SATs and an acceptance letter from Stanford.

"In my other set of memories, I'm Steven Franklin Thomas Holtz, adopted son of Vampire Hunter Daniel Holtz. I was raised in a hell dimension known as Quor'toth where he and I were the only two human beings. I gutted demons regularly by age six, because it was that or die. Holtz trained me and cared for my physical needs. He talked about love and family, spending a lot of time and detail on how an evil vampire named Angelus killed his wife and newborn son then sired his young daughter, forcing Holtz to kill her. Holtz admitted that he kidnapped me from Angel, explaining he felt duty-bound to rescue me from the selfish and twisted vampire with a soul. Though he gave me his son's name and told me to call him "father", he never really saw me as a son. The only times he showed approval were when I was killing for him or expressing hatred for my birth family.

"By the time I found my way back to this dimension, Holtz had succeeded in turning me into the perfect brainwashed tool to use against Angel. Time moves differently in each dimension. I aged sixteen years on Quor'toth, while only weeks passed here." Connor grabbed a couple chips and washed them down before plunging into the darkest part of his tale. "When I returned, Angel tried to talk to me; explain what really happen both before and after I was born, but listening would have meant going against Holtz, and I wasn't capable of that. When I did start to soften, and see Angel as something other than a monster, Holtz killed himself while making it look like Angel murdered him. I reacted just as he knew I would." Connor's eyes clouded over with dark memories.

"Did you try to kill Angel?" Sam prodded. He knew that's what he would have done to the thing he believed murdered his brother or father.

"No," denied Connor. "Death would have been too quick. I sealed him in a metal box and sunk him to the bottom of the ocean to ensure he suffered starvation and hallucinations indefinitely. Even when he was rescued and the truth about how Holtz really died was revealed I stayed defiant. I went from making bad choices to worse ones. I fell in love with a woman who was being possessed. The situation spiraled out of control when I let the monster manipulate me. I unintentionally provided it with access to our reality, thinking it was my baby, and then stood by while she started taking control of peoples minds. When Angel broke Jasmine's hold over others, I killed her, not because I thought she was evil, but because it seemed the most merciful thing I could do for her.

"Afterwards, I felt dead inside. I was prepared to kill the woman I loved, myself and a bunch of innocent folks in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had bombs rigged and everything," Connor continued in a bitter brag. "By the time Angel caught up with us, my mind was so broken; psychotic would have been an improvement."

"What did he do?" Jessica asked softly. Even now he only saw sympathy in her eyes.

Connor offered a small, but genuine smile. "Angel did what a Champion is supposed to do. He saved the innocents, disarmed the bombs, and stopped the crazy man from harming himself or anybody else. He killed the twisted, broken person Holtz made, and with a deal from Wolfram and Hart created Connor Reilly by magically altering everyone's memories, including mine. He was the only one whose memories weren't changed. It cost him a lot too. To win me a chance at a normal, happy, sane life, he took over the LA Branch of Wolfram and Hart. Everyone viewed his actions as an indication he had switched sides. He gave up everything with no apologies because you do whatever you have to, to protect your family."

"I've got someone like that," Sam volunteered after a moment of silence. "I've lost count of how many times I've thanked God for placing him in my life, even though he often plays the part of world's most annoying jerk." Sam's tone turned low and gravelly in imitation. "Shut your pie-hole and stop being a bitch, Sammy. We've got work to do." Even as he spoke, he remembered ignoring Dean's last text because he had been studying for an exam. He resolved to get back to Dean once his inevitable hangover passed.

"Angel has no sense of humor," Connor confided. "When you call him on it, he gets this wounded look that makes you feel like a schoolyard bully."

Jessica might have trouble relating to Sam and Connor's supernatural past, but over protective family members was something she knew about. "My Dad forbade me to date until I became a black belt," she shared.

"He wanted you to be able to protect yourself," noted Sam, remembering all of the time Dean and his dad drilled him on his fighting skills.

"So did you get it?" asked Connor, pretty sure she had.

"Second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do," she revealed with a self depreciating grin, "not that it was any use against a rabid werewolf."

"Well, going close-quarters or hand-to-hand is seldom a good idea when monsters are involved," Sam pointed out.

"Should that be hand-to-hand, or hand-to-claw," Connor wondered idly.

Sam shrugged, "Claw, paw, slimy tentacle."

Connor shuddered. "I really hate the slimy tentacles."

Making sure Jessica didn't get left out of the conversation, Sam added, "Your training probably helped more than you realized. Martial arts demand a lot of self-discipline and focus. Those are the same things that keep you from panicking in a crisis like tonight. Don't forget you managed to get a pretty effective attack in, too."

"Really?" asked Connor suddenly interested. "What did you do?"

"I got lucky," replied Jessica, well aware her contribution was minor in comparison to what Sam and Connor had done.

When he realized Jessica was hesitant to say more, Sam explained, "I wounded the werewolf, but even with a crippled arm, it kept coming. We took shelter in the shed, but before I could lead it away, it started tearing into the walls trying to get in. It managed to rip part of a board off near the door frame and stuck its snarling head through. Right about the time April, Zach, and even Luis were screaming, Jessica grabs a spray bottle and squirts it in the snout with weed killer. For the first time in my life, I heard a werewolf whimper like a kicked puppy."

"I wish I could have seen that," Connor sighed. "Actually, now that I think about it, your attack is probably why the werewolf never sensed me coming. I knew I had the wind at my back as I approached. I kept expecting it to turn and face me but it never did. When you sprayed its snout, you probably killed its sense of smell."

"Glad I could help," Jessica replied, finally convinced her actions were useful. "I have a question though: If Angel had your memories changed to give you the experience of a happy, normal childhood, why do you still remember Holtz and Quor'toth? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?"

"Actually, that answer lies in the last chapter of my story," explained Connor. He used his wheeled desk chair to roll over to the mini-fridge and pull several chocolate bars out of the ice box, giving one each to Sam and Jess. "So, last year, I was happily living the life of Connor Reilly, enjoying my first year at Stanford. During Spring break, I was visiting home when I got hit by a van and pinned against our garage. When the van backed up and drove off, I didn't have a scratch on me. One of the officers who took the accident report suggested my parents take me to Wolfram and Hart because of their reputation for dealing with the supernatural. I remember meeting Angel, for what I thought was the first time, and not understanding why he stared at me so strangely. Of course, he promptly kicked us out, saying he couldn't help us: His not so subtle way of keeping me safe from the dangers of his life.

"Unfortunately, the van wasn't a fluke. My parents and I were attacked at a restaurant parking lot the same evening. That was when I learned I possessed more strength than your average weightlifter, but I still managed to get my butt kicked because I didn't remember being trained to use it. Luckily, Angel showed up to save us from the demons. It turned out they were working for a warlock named Cyvus Vail. Vail wanted to kill an old enemy of his, a demon known as Sahjahn. Sahjahn was already trapped in an urn, but according to Vail, prophecy insisted there was only one person who could kill him, specifically me."

"He needed you to do his dirty work," Sam guessed.

Connor nodded in confirmation. "Angel told me what Vail wanted, adding that Vail made some convincing threats to go along with his request. At the time I assumed those threats were against my family, now I realized they were against me. Vail told Angel if he didn't get me to cooperate, he would bring back my original memories, turning me back into the psychopath I used to be."

"You already said you have two sets of memories," noted Jessica, "so I'm guessing you weren't cooperative."

"I tried to be," Connor countered, "but Laurence and Colleen Reilly raised their children to be productive members of society, not axe-wielding demon hunters. Angel gave me a few tips on how to fight Sahjahn, they were even good advice, but despite my super human strength and speed, I had no idea how to fight. Sahjahn beat me to a pulp within moments of being freed from his urn. He had me pinned down and was choking the life out of me when suddenly a thousand different fights from both Quor'toth and Earth flashed through my mind. Instinct took over and abruptly I wasn't just holding my own, I was beating him. I severed his head the way I had for dozens of other demons.

"Then I saw Angel and remembered everything I had done to him and everything he tried to do for me. I remembered Holtz too," Connor explained, "but the memories weren't so fond when compared to Laurence and Colleen." The love Connor received from the Reillys greatly altered how he perceived Holtz.

Connor couldn't quite bring himself to share the memory of Angel hovering over him with a knife declaring, "I really do love you, Connor." At the time Connor had been too broken to recognize the emotions swirling in his father's eyes; to really even believe love existed. He taunted Angel with a low, "So what are you going to do about it?" Angel's responding, "Prove it," joined by a sweep of his blade through Connor's throat could have been a betrayal, were it not followed by the gifts of Laurence, Colleen, Abigail and the thousands of memories tying him to the Reilly family. Angel had loved him enough to give him up to another family's care. Provided him with the love and stability he needed to heal his shattered mind. Connor knew the cost had very nearly been his father's soul.

"Standing there with Sahjahn's corpse at my feet, I could see the terror on Angel's face," Connor continued. "Terror that the revelation of my true past would break me the way it had before."

"But it didn't break you," refuted Jessica with certainty.

"No," Connor agreed. "Maybe it was because I still held my memories of the Reillys. They gave me the perspective to see Holtz had only ever used me, while Angel was the father who always put me first, even if he had made a few mistakes along the way. I didn't want to make Angel's sacrifice for nothing, and honestly, I was uncertain I could pick up fighting again without turning into psycho-Connor, so I pretended I didn't remember Angel and went home with my parents."

"You didn't say anything?" Sam demanded aghast.

"Nothing definitive, at least, not then," hedged Connor, remembering his comment about learning the importance of protecting one's family from his father. "About a month later, Angel tracked me down at the Stanford Coffee House. Out of the blue, he starts a casual conversation about work and the new girl he's dating."

Jessica seemed confused about the implications, but Sam understood immediately, "Was there an apocalypse last May I missed hearing about?"

"Did you hear about the chemical leak in LA that caused hallucinations and minor rioting?" asked Connor.

"Are there any major news events that aren't related to the supernatural?" wondered Jessica. During the past couple of hours she had learned the collapse of Sunnydale, Jasmine fad, and even the recent riots were all supernatural in origin. Jessica knew she would never look at a headline the same way again.

Connor chuckled, "Anyway, Angel is telling me about the girl he is dating: That conscientious werewolf I mentioned earlier. I crack a joke about him jonesing for some full moon loving, which he totally didn't get. It was strange watching him try to connect with me when as far as he knew, I just thought of him as the weird vampire who helped me deal with a prophecy. So I told him I knew he was my father. Thanked him for what he had done for me, but asked him to leave it there. I'd struggled through a month's worth of nightmares trying to sort out my memories and I still wasn't ready to man up."

Connor poured the last of his whiskey into his glass. "After he left, it kept nagging at me. There was no way Angel would come to see me if something big wasn't about to happen. The way he acted; it was like he was saying goodbye. So I ignored my own decree and went to see him at Wolfram and Hart. It turned out to be a good thing because some loser in a suit was about to stake him."

"You got to save your dad's life," assumed Sam.

Connor grimaced, "Not really. I managed to knock the guy off of him, but he was back up again in seconds. Angel and I were both going at him full tilt, hitting him with all of our strength, and he wasn't even winded. I vaguely remember being head-butted and tossed across the room. Apparently, while I was lying semi-conscious, the bad guy bragged to Angel about how the power of Wolfram and Hart flowed in his blood."

"He bragged about how powerful his blood was to a vampire?" Sam asked wondering at the stupidity of such an action.

Connor grinned, "You've got to love the bad guy pontificating."

"Wait, so Angel drank his blood and stole his power?" Jessica wanted to make sure she had the events right.

"And beat him to death," Connor nodded in confirmation. "Then the building started to collapse on us. That was interesting. Angel told me to go home. He said they could never destroy him as long as I was safe. I didn't want to leave him to fight alone, but I'd barely survived the first skirmish. It was clear the war Angel planned to wage was way out of my league. Plus, if I stayed with Angel, there wouldn't be anyone to protect the Reillys." Jessica and Sam could see even the thought of his adoptive family coming to harm upset Connor. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to them, especially Abby." The adoring, freckle-faced girl was a far better sister than he had any right to deserve. In fact, the most significant change Connor made in his life after the return of his true memories involved spending more time with Abigail. He needed to make certain his little sister never experienced the pain and isolation which scarred Connor's life. He would never be able to pay Laurence and Colleen back for loving him so unconditionally, but he could at least do everything in his power to make sure Abby never came to harm.

Forcing his thoughts away from the Reillys, Connor finished his story. "I called Dad on my cell; told him to get Mom and Abby packed up and head out of town. I planned to meet him, but felt this sudden urge to check out the mansion where I'd fought Sahjahn. There, I found both the warlock, Cyvus Vail and Wesley, one of Angel's team members, were dead. I decided I needed to at least bury Wesley, when his spirit appeared to tell that me, I shouldn't bother with such trivialities when Wolfram and Hart would likely launch a counter-offense that could destroy much of LA. He said their standard perpetuity cause prevented his spirit from passing on. He knew what might happen if he died and decided Angel's plan was worth the price. He was advising me on the best way out of town when Cordelia's reinforcements arrived via portal."

"Cordelia?" Sam and Jessica both asked.

"The older possessed woman I fell in love with; mother of my demi-god, monster baby," Connor explained.

"You weren't joking about your life being weird, even by hunter standards," noted Sam. He couldn't help but shake his head at the supernatural melodrama that revolved around Connor. Passions had nothing on this guy's life.

"Not even a little," confirmed Connor, nursing the last of his whiskey. "After the delivery of . . . the baby, Cordelia hovered in a coma for several months before dying. I heard the Powers That Be used Cordelia to pass a message to Angel before she died and, in return, owed her a big favor. She called in that favor to have her ex-boyfriend and some of their friends reinforce Angel's team if Wolfram and Hart got too frisky about their vengeance. She was even able to help Wesley. She couldn't break the perpetuity clause but she was able to sever his ties the Wolfram and Hart. So now I've got my own ghost counselor."

"Seriously?" asked Sam. He had encountered many spirits, but they were usually tied to places or things, not people.

"Cordelia said the only way to make sure Wolfram and Hart wouldn't try to take back Wesley's soul was if it was bound to a Champion. I thought he would ask to be bound to Angel or Spike, but he said he owned me a debt and would prefer to be bound to me," Connor confided.

Sam and Jessica looked at each other and then around Connor's room.

"Can we meet Wesley?" Jessica finally asked, half-expecting some ghostly visage to float out of Connor's cabinet.

"No," denied Connor, "he's not here right now. Angel's team needed help with some complex translations, and Wesley thought he could be of some use. Angel is supposed to bring him back in a couple of weeks. You can meet him then if you want."

"I think I'd like that," said Sam. While his family had a reputation for dealing with vengeful ghosts, Sam had met a few guardian spirits over the years. Those who dedicated their after-life to protecting the living were left alone by the Winchesters. "So once the reinforcements arrived, the apocalypse was averted?"

"Pretty much," agreed Connor. "Cordelia's ex is one of the founding members of the Slayer's Council; the organization which replaced the Watcher's council when it was destroyed," Connor explained to Jessica. "He brought an entire white coven from Dover as well as a dozen slayers and three dozen other fighters. Before I knew it, I was leading a group of fighters to protect and evacuate civilians, while the Slayers helped the remains of Angel's team contain the demon hoard, and the coven neutralized all black magic in the area."

Connor turned to Sam. "Now that you've heard my life's story, let's hear yours," he encouraged. Connor was eager to have the attention focused on someone other than him. He also had a feeling Sam would have an interesting story to tell.


	4. Forging an alliance

_Connor turned to Sam. "Now that you've heard my life's story, let's hear yours," he encouraged._

"Sure, why not?' agreed Sam with an ease that would have caused the vein in his father's temple to start pulsing in fury. John Winchester remained a man of secrets, who adamantly believed; the less revealed about the supernatural the better. Usually, this was one of the few points of agreement John and Sam shared, but tonight stood a long way from usual. Tonight Sam not only discovered another hunter was attending Stanford (a Champion, no less), he also discovered the girl he'd been going in mental circles about could face the supernatural with a fearlessness seldom seen in Sam's experience. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow with Luis and Zack, but he knew Connor and Jessica were on his side. He wanted to repay the faith Connor had shown him with a leap of faith of his own.

"Just don't expect my life to be nearly as exciting as yours," Sam warned. "To start with, I didn't know about the supernatural until I was eight. I thought Dad was some sort of travelling salesman and Mom had died in a car accident when I was a baby. My older brother, Dean, and I had been left in a motel in Nebraska for a couple of weeks while Dad was on a job. It was Christmas break so I didn't even have school to relieve the boredom. I wasn't allowed to leave the room and felt more than a little stir crazy. Dean, who was twelve at the time, was even more frustrated with the situation then me since he had been charged with protecting me in Dad's absence. I had seen glimpses of my Dad's journal, but was never allowed to touch it. I knew Dean would enforce Dad's rule so I snuck the journal into the bathroom while Dean was watching TV, and started to read it."

"I'm guessing it was more than a list of sales contacts," suggested Connor.

"A lot more," Sam agreed. He up ended the last of his whiskey before continuing with his own private horror story. "I started with how Mom really died. Dad was woken by Mom's screams coming from my room. He rushed up the stairs, and at first everything seemed alright. Then he noticed something dripping on the pillow next to me. He looked up and saw Mom pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from a cut in her belly. Flames started flying out around her; consuming her. I was screaming in my crib, so Dad got Dean and me out of the house. He tried to go back for Mom, but he couldn't get past the flames. The authorities wrote it off as bad wiring. The few people he told about what he saw that night thought he was crazy, so he sold his part of the garage and went searching for his own answers. He never found the thing that killed Mom, but he did find a lot of other evil things to kill along the way."

Though Jessica felt reluctant to hug Connor when he had shared a similar tragedy, there was no hesitation to embrace Sam. Something about his puppy dog eyes seemed to beg for comfort. "I'm sorry you went through that," she offered.

Sam shook his head as he pulled back. "I was too young to remember much," he assured. "I wasn't even a year old. In a lot of ways, I think it was worse for Dean. He was four; old enough to form memories, not that he ever talked about it. Even Dad wouldn't talk about that night if he could avoid it. I wouldn't even know what Mom looked like if it weren't for a few pictures. I just wish I had a few memories of her that were my own."

"I got to talk to Darla once," admitted Connor. "I talked to her spirit anyway. She was sent by the Powers to try and steer me away from a really bad decision. I almost listened to her, but I was so weak; so pathetically needy for Cordelia's attention . . . the thing possessing Cordelia claimed Darla was just a magic spell cast to lead me astray." Connor grimaced, realizing what happened next wasn't a story he was willing to share. "Let's just say I made a mistake by listening to Cordelia, instead of Darla, and things went quickly downhill from there." In some ways it was the worst of Connor's returned memories, because he would never be able to make amends to the girl he'd put in danger and then failed to save. It remained the biggest reason he didn't feel he had the right to claim the title Champion. Deciding it was time to get the conversation back on topic, Connor asked, "What did your father say when he realized what you'd done?"

"He didn't know for a while," Sam replied. "Once I'd wrapped my head around the idea of the monsters, I confronted Dean. He tried to cover for Dad, until I showed him I had read Dad's journal." A smile crossed Sam's face at the memory. "Dean told me we had the coolest dad in the world; a superhero who fought monsters. Then he swore me to secrecy, with threats, of course."

"So how long before your Dad figured you were in on the big secret?" asked Jessica.

"I'm not sure," admitted Sam. "Months passed and he . . . he never said anything, he just started leaving his research out were I might find it, and talking about hunts where I would hear him. I was nine when I told Dad I afraid of the thing in my closet. He handed me a forty-five caliber loaded with consecrated iron rounds."

"So how did your first hunt go?" Connor asked eagerly.

"Terrifying," Sam admitted with a chuckle. "My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the gun."

"Where were your father and brother?" asked Jessica, not liking the idea of a terrified nine-year-old with a loaded gun.

"The thing in my closet was a Porshtaw," explained Sam. "They feed off of the fear created by children's nightmares, but only children. Once you hit puberty you're no longer a target, for them at least. Bobby thought it has something to do with hormone levels. Anyway, most Porshtaws will feed off a child's nightmares for two or three nights and then move on, but sometimes they'll attach themselves to one child for months on end. It can lead to mental breakdowns, hospitalization, and in rare cases death."

"Death," Jessica was aghast, "from just nightmares?"

"When a Porshtaws feeds they drain off some of the child's life energies, flavored with a fear, of course," Sam began. "If the child's nightmares continue for more than a couple of days it can put a serious dent in their sleep cycles. Not only are they tired from the constant nightmares but they're also growing weaker from the feedings. My Dad brought us to that town because he'd read a news article about a child's chronic nightmares triggering a fatal asthma attack. He told me he could take me to Pastor Jim's where I'd be safe, and he would try to keep hunting the creature, but since Dean was too old to attract one it meant another child, maybe several other children, would be attacked before he could kill it. That was the first time I played bait. Dad and Dean rushed in when they heard me scream, and Dad took it down with one shot."

"After that Dad started training Dean and I. Dean loved it, he couldn't wait for the next hunt; the next town; the next adventure," detailed Sam. "I didn't mind the research so much, but most days I wanted to practice soccer not bow hunting. I hated the constant moving from town to town; always being the new kid. Even on those rare occasions when I made friends, it never lasted more than a few weeks."

"It might have been easier for him to home-school you," suggested Jessica. Then as if just realizing she had spoken out loud, she explained, "Did I mention I'm an education major?"

"Dad seemed to prefer enrolling us in a new school every couple of months," said Sam. "Dean wanted to start hunting full time the day he turned eighteen, but Dad insisted he get his diploma first." Sam smirked at the memory. "The only time I ever saw Dean work an end-around on Dad came a month after Dean's eighteenth birthday. Dean told Dad he had pulled himself out of school that day and had no intention of going back. I thought Dad was going to have an aneurism his face was so red. He ordered Dean to go back to school, saying Winchesters weren't drop-outs or quitters. Dean didn't say anything, just slammed a piece of paper on the table. It showed he had passed the GED with high scores, especially in the math and science sections. Dad was torn between proud and irritated."

"Soon the two of them were off hunting, or hustling since Dad rarely took money for what he did. I kept going to school and became their researcher for the next couple of years." Sam sighed, "The closer I got to graduation the more Dad talked about us not being tied to my school schedule. He assumed I would follow him and Dean into the family business, but it was the last thing I wanted. I filled out eight hundred scholarship and grant applications, trying to find a way to pay for the Stanford acceptance I had already received. When I got the letter saying my essay had won a grant large enough to earn a Bachelor's degree I was so happy. I couldn't wait to finally get a chance to live a safe and normal life. I knew Dad wouldn't like it, and Dean would take my leaving hard, but . . ." Sam remembered how his dream of college became an all encompassing solution to his problems; the ideal he clung to when he was fighting with Dad or alone again waiting for his father and brother to return from a hunt.

"They didn't take it well," said Connor, easily reading Sam's expression.

Sam's earlier smile turned bitter. "I believe coward and traitor were two of the more polite insults Dad tossed at me," Sam recalled.

"He called you a coward for wanting to go to college?" demanded Connor, sounding angry on his new friend's behalf. He remembered the way Sam led a rabid werewolf away from others; the way he turned and fought the monster. Coward didn't apply to Sam Winchester.

"I wasn't exactly calm either," assured Sam. "I called him a bad father, whose obsession destroyed his sons' childhoods. I also told him Dean was more of a parent to me than he ever had been. It was probably the most accurate thing said during fight, but it was also unfair of me to pull Dean into the argument; especially when he was trying so hard to get the two of us to quit yelling at each other." Sam used to regularly get angry at Dean for siding with Dad. Almost a year and a half of time and distance changed his perspective enough to see Dean's main priority had always been protecting family. For Dean that equated into following their Dad's orders. "Anyway, Dad finally got tired of trying to convince me to listen to reason, or at least his version of it and threw out an ultimatum: 'If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back again!'" Sam sighed, "I took him at his word and packed up my stuff. Dean drove me to the local bus station and shoved a wad of cash at me; everything he'd won hustling pool the week before. He didn't say much else, but I could tell he was disappointed in me too. He probably figured I was shirking my responsibilities."

"But he paid for your bus fare," pointed out Jessica. "He couldn't have been that unhappy."

"You don't know Dean," countered Sam. "He can be absolutely furious with you, but he'll still do whatever is needed to protect you." Sam grinned as he admitted, "I gave him so much shit that last year about being Dad's good little soldier, it's a wonder he didn't beat me daily." His smile slipped away. "I never understood how he could put so much faith in Dad, and he never understood how I could want to do any thing with my life other than hunt."

"Did you hate hunting that much?" asked Connor.

"I didn't hate researching or tracking the things we went after. I actually liked puzzling out the who, what, when, where and why. Helping others, sometimes even saving whole families, was great. What I hated was Dad leaving us locked in a motel room for weeks on end with too little food and money. I hated watching Dean stitch up Dad and vise versa after a monster got too close. I hated that everything we owned came from credit card scams and hustling pool and poker. But most of all I hated that we were always chasing the next creature, the next ghost, the next monster. We must have lived in a hundred different places over the years, but I never felt like I belonged in any of them."

"Well, you've been at Stanford for a year and a half now, right?" asked Connor. "Do you feel like you belong here?"

Sam grimaced. "More like I've been pretending," he admitted. "Tonight is the first time I've come close to feeling like I belong."

"That's because you do belong," assured Jessica taking Sam's hand. Sam smiled in return.

Connor snorted, "What a couple of girls."

While Jessica tried to look offended, Sam just laughed, "You and Dean would definitely get along. I should introduce you. Maybe I can convince him to stop by the next time they've got a hunt in the area." No one commented on John being left out of the equation.

"When was the last time you talked to him?" asked Jessica. "Is he hunting nearby?"

Suddenly Sam looked a bit sheepish, "We haven't actually talked since I left. He texted me right before New Year's break, but I was cramming for an exam and didn't get back to him."

"Shame on you, Sam," Jessica teased.

"Selfish-younger-sibling-syndrome," declared Connor. "I've seen it before. The younger sibling gets involved in something new and completely ignores their big brother's existence."

Jessica laughed, "That sounds like the voice of experience speaking."

Connor frowned, "It is. Abigail is fourteen, and recently discovered boys. The only time she talks to me is to tell me how incredible Justin YouTube is. Seriously, if I hear one more thing about his hair I may have to hunt the punk down on principle."

Now it was Jessica's turn to burst into giggles. She knew all about the popular boy-toy phenomenon Connor described. Several of the younger students she tutored in high school professed to love Justin.

Sam, meanwhile, was dwelling on the fact that he had been neglecting his brother. "I should call Dean; let him know how important he is to me," he suddenly declared.

"You should definitely do that," Connor agreed smirking into his drink. He figured it related to blood loss more than consumption, but Sam was definitely feeling the liquor. Fortunately for Sam, Jessica consistently supplied her new friend with water, snacks (at least those she wasn't tossing at her companions) and the last of the Gatorade. Sam's hangover would be secondary to his sore muscles in the morning. Jessica was also more than a bit tipsy, as proved by her continued giggles over his Justin comment. One of the downside to his ancestry was his high tolerance to many poisons. Alcohol was, after all, a recreational poison. Despite that Connor felt more relaxed than he had since his Quor'toth memories returned, some nine months before. He knew it wasn't because of the liquor so it must be the company. Connor's laughter joined Jessica's when Sam misdialed his first attempt to reach his brother.

* * *

Closing time was just moments away at the no name Kentucky bar in which Dean sat. He had finished hustling pool about half an hour ago and was nursing a beer while John cleaned out a few other patrons playing darts. Dean didn't hear his cell ring over the too loud country music, but he felt it vibrate and quickly pulled it out to check the caller ID. Immediately recognizing his little brother's number, Dean slapped a couple bills on the bar and headed out to the parking lot. "What's wrong, Sammy?" he demanded in a rough tone, while he tried not to imagine all of the trouble his baby brother could have gotten into without him.

"You are the most awesome big brother in the world, Dean," Sam announced. "Even though you were mad about the way I left, you still drove me to the station and gave me bus fare. You've always answered all of my texts even though I've ignored some of yours. I know I'm a selfish excuse for a kid brother, but I just wanted to let you know what an awesome brother you are."

Relief that Sam wasn't in danger was quickly followed by irritation, "Dude, are you drunk dialing me?"

"Drunk dialing? I'm not drunk," Sam protested a little too loudly. Dean heard laughter and a male voice murmuring in the background. "How many whiskeys?" Sam asked, clearly speaking to someone else. Dean heard the male voice again followed by a sigh from Sam. "Okay, I may be a little drunk," admitted Sam embarrassment filling his voice.

"Frigging light-weight," grumbled Dean as the happiness at hearing his brother's voice after far too long, battled with anger at Sam for only calling because he was drunk. Even upset, Dean relished hearing the sound of Sam's voice and wasn't quite ready to end the conversation. "So what have you been doing at Stanford when you're not drunk dialing your awesome big brother?"

"Going to class and studying, of course," replied Sam.

"Sounds fabulous," commented Dean sarcastically.

"I think you might like it more than you expect," suggested Sam. "There's a mechanical engineering class that revolves around breaking apart common appliances and devises to make new ones." It was something he had watched Dean do on more than one occasion during their youth.

"I suppose that wouldn't totally suck," Dean allowed, "but I'm probably better at it than the professor running the class."

"Well you could use the Advanced Latin class," Sam countered. "Your pronunciation stinks."

"Is that what you're taking?" asked Dean, knowing he couldn't argue Sam's assessment. He felt almost starved for information on Sam. Swinging by Stanford with their Dad to spy on Sam from a distance wasn't the same as talking to him.

"No, I tested out of Advanced Latin," said Sam. "Right now I'm working through Advanced Greek. I'll start Sanskrit in the fall."

"They teach Sanskrit?" asked Dean surprised.

"Yeah, and languages aren't the only hunter friendly courses offered. I've already finished Wilderness First Responder and Wilderness Medicine; Jujutsu for finding weak spots in armored opponents; Data Mining and Analysis is great for showing you ways to find the next hunt. Even Dad would be impressed with my Monsters, Ghosts and Other Fantastic Beings class. I'm positive Professor Holt is in the know; too many of the books in his office match ones I remember being in Uncle Bobby's library, and the lore he highlights in class is always spot on."

"Wait. These are classes you're taking?" confusion filled Dean's voice. "What the hell, Sam? I thought you left to get away from hunting."

Silence filled the line before he finally heard Sam sigh. "I was burnt out on hunting Dean. If I hadn't stopped, I would have gotten one of us killed. I still don't know how you and Dad can keep doing the job week after week without it wearing on you. I know you love traveling from place to place, but for me, never having a safe haven to land at was exhausting. I tried to talk to Dad about setting up a base of operations somewhere. Uncle Bobby works out of his salvage yard. Pastor Jim has only moved once in all of the time we've known him. Others manage to hunt while maintaining a semblance of normal, but Dad wasn't interested in changing his ways and I just didn't have it in me to follow him any more. Be honest Dean, those last couple of months things were only getting worse. Dad and I are too much alike in all the wrong ways." Dean heard a groan from Sam. "I don't want to talk about Dad anymore. Can't you tell I'm trying to convince you to come visit me? Just think of all of the hot co-eds I could introduce you to."

"I thought you just attended classes and studied?" teased Dean. Sam's answer had been far more revealing than anything he'd been able to pry out of the sullen teen leaving for Stanford a year and a half ago. Dean remembered Sam approaching John, more than once, about carving out a set territory or making a base of operations; ideas John swiftly dismissed. At the time Dean had taken Sam's angry reaction as over the top teen dramatics. Yet he knew hunting was too hard for some. He'd seen the way it broke Martin Creaser after Albuquerque and he knew Martin wasn't the only hunter in an insane asylum. For the first time Dean considered maybe he ought to be glad Sam left.

"Dean, I'm diligent, not dead," Sam insisted. "Even I know which girls top the 'most likely to jump your bones' list."

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I could find the time to swing by Palo Alto, assuming I'm already in the area on a case, of course," Dean suggested as nonchalantly as possible.

"Cool," Sam sighed. "I miss you."

"Sammy, I refuse to have a chick-flick moment with you; especially over the phone," Dean warned. "So how about we hang up and you go sleep it off."

"Jerk," Sam tossed out in a familiar and comfortable ritual.

"Bitch," Dean threw right back. A moment later a click let him know the call was over. Through a window Dean could see John settling up their tab at the bar. Looking down at his cell again Dean realized he felt better than he had in months. For a while now he had wondered if Sam hated him as much as he seemed to hate hunting. Knowing Sam never felt that way, lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. Recalling Sam's first words to him, Dean repeated, "'The most awesome big brother in the world.' You're damned right I am, Sammy." With a smile on his lips he headed for the Impala.

* * *

"Did I just hear your brother call you a bitch?" Connor teased.

"It's Dean's version of an affectionate nick name," Sam tried to justify.

"Once again, I'm glad to be an only child," decided Jessica. Making herself more comfortable, she admitted, "I feel like it's my turn to reveal my deep dark past, but honestly tonight is the first time I've come face to face with the supernatural." After a moment of hesitation, she added, "Unless you count some weird dreams I used to have."

"What kind of weird?" Connor asked looking suddenly hopeful, "the x-rated kind of weird?" A wiggle of eyebrows accompanied the question.

"You wish," Jessica taunted. "No, they were dreams I had when I was like eight years old." At Sam's encouraging nod she continued, "I would be walking through a field or along a beach; sometimes climbing a tree or up a mountain side. Beside me would be a man who looked like my father but I always knew he wasn't. I called him Abba."

"Isn't the word Abba Greek for father?" remember Connor.

"Yes," confirmed Sam, "but it also means Daddy in Aramaic. In fact, it was how Jesus was said to refer to God." Sam looked at Jessica. "Did you dream you were visiting with God?"

Jessica was surprised. She had mentioned her dreams to others in the past but no one else picked up on the significance of the name Abba. "Yes, I did. At least, I believe God visited my dreams. I'm sure there are lots of people who would assume they were just the product of an over active imagination."

Connor leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on his desk. "Well, I've seen enough of the strange and bizarre to be willing to suspend my disbelief. What did you and God talk about in your dreams?"

"I was only eight at the time," Jessica pointed out. "So we would talk about homework, the class bully, even why Grammy Moore was sick. Other times He would tell me stories and teach me things."

"What kinds of things?" asked Sam, ever curious.

"It's funny, a lot of it I don't remember unless something triggers it," admitted Jessica. "Like being able to understand some Latin even though I never took a class in it, or getting irritated with a horror movie showing an exorcism gone bad and thinking, 'of course it went bad, you did it wrong.'"

"Hollywood always does the exorcisms wrong," Sam noted seriously.

"Wait," Jessica started searching her pockets, "I've got something here He showed me how to do. Abba said it would keep me safe. I had the sudden urge to draw it a couple of weeks ago." She pulled a somewhat frayed piece of paper with an intricate drawing of a five pointed star within a circle surrounded by flames radiating out in all directions.

Sam took the paper amazed by what he was seeing.

"Isn't that a protection circle," asked Connor shifting to get a closer look.

"Yeah," agreed Sam, "but a really powerful one. I don't know as much about this stuff as Bobby, but I'm pretty sure having this symbol is enough to stop even an upper level demon from possessing you."

"I'm sold," announced Connor. "I don't suppose God gave you any previews on how your life would turn out?"

Jessica laughed, "Abba did say I would have an important choice to make one day." Jessica bit her lip and asked Sam, "Did you mean what you said to Dean about wishing you could carve out your own territory to protect? Couldn't you do that here with Stanford?"

"It's not a bad idea," Connor chimed in. "Angel wanted me to come back to Stanford and lead an ordinary life, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to look the other way when situations like the werewolf pop up. Maybe if we got a bit more proactive about keeping an eye on the campus we could prevent others from getting hurt like tonight."

Sam was torn, this was exactly what he had wanted when he'd first joined his father and brother hunting, but he had replaced that dream with the one of a normal college life a while ago. "Do you really think we could pull off balancing our class loads and hunting at the same time?"

"It's not like we're on top of a Hellmouth," Connor pointed out. "It's been nine months since my memories returned and in that time this is only the third occasion where I've run across something supernatural on campus. Heck, the first time was a totally benign guardian spirit. If we stick to just patrolling the campus; keeping our eyes and ears open, I think it's totally doable."

Sam found himself liking the idea more and more, but still felt compelled to not make it too easy. "So what was the second occasion?"

"Oh, just a stupid guy trying to put a curse on his cheating girlfriend," explained Connor. "Not that I couldn't sympathize, but curses always come back to bite you in the ass. I confiscated his curse book and replaced it with a how-to manual on replacing your cheating girl with a better one. I turned the curse book over to Angel who locked it away: Problem solved."

Sam considered a moment longer before flashing the others a wide smile, "Okay, I'm in. Starting tomorrow, assuming we survive the hangovers that I know are coming," turning to Connor he directed, "and if you're immune to hangovers, I so don't want to hear about it," to which Connor merely grinned. "Starting tomorrow the three of us take on the duty of protecting Stanford from all supernatural evil. Agreed?"

"Agreed," replied Connor taking Sam's hand in a firm grip.

"I'm in too," volunteered Jessica, placing her right hand on top of their clasped ones.

"Alright then, it looks like Stanford has a team of hunters to protect it," declared Sam, feeling as though his life had irrevocably shifted during the last few hours. Even with the likeliness of a hangover and bruised muscles from tangling with the werewolf, Sam found himself looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Author's note: For those wondering where the group with Jessica, during the werewolf attack, came from; Luis Jackson is the guy in the zombie costume doing shots with Sam and Jessica at the beginning of the Supernatural pilot, Zack Warren is Sam's friend framed by a shapeshifter for murder in 'Skin'. April, Jessica's roommate, I created myself.


End file.
